


Memorandum of Agreement

by ynvel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternative Universe - Diplomatic Corps, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Future Fic, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Pining, YOI Career Week, friends to maybe something more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 02:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13226718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ynvel/pseuds/ynvel
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is the executive assistant of Russian Ambassador Yakov Feltsman. He doesn't care much for the callers, unless it happens to be one Otabek Altin, from the Kazakh Ministry of Foreign Affairs.The fic that explores when diplomatic correspondence evolves into diplomatic flirting; or: how to get closer to the guy on the other end of the line who you occasionally diplomatically flirt with while planning the most important day of your calendar year-- Russia's national day.





	Memorandum of Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Erushi's Career Week AU, or an AU inspired by the following:  
> \- Your current job;  
> \- A job you previously held; or  
> \- A job you are likely to hold in the near future (e.g. based on what you are studying, or just an upcoming change in career).
> 
> This AU was inspired by my time as an executive assistant to the Ambassador for a small European embassy. The fic is based on some of my and my friends' experiences. :) 
> 
> More notes on language use and embassy protocol at the end.
> 
> Lastly, this is my first creative work in ten years so I'm very nervous and I hope people enjoy it!

Wednesdays, Yuri decided, were the worst. Mondays had the benefit of at least being quiet as the Russian Foreign Ministry was usually hungover and didn’t get to actual work until the afternoon, but Wednesdays meant that the workload was already piling up, consular officers had to review the applications that spilled over from Tuesday, and the number of visa applicants were usually more than Monday.

 

His desk phone lit up, an unknown number registering. Yuri growled.

 

And then there were the phone calls.

 

“Посольство России.”

 

“Hi, is this the Russian Embassy?”

 

“Yes. What do you need.” Yuri’s voice was flat and unimpressed.

 

“What is the fastest way to get to Russia?”

 

“By boat-,” Yuri bit his tongue, “I mean, by plane. No direct flights from here, please check your local airlines, we are not a travel agency. Anything else.”

 

“Uhm-,” the caller stammered, clearly thrown by Yuri’s brash attitude, “w-when are the visa appointments and w-what are the requirements?” Yuri gave a long-suffering sigh. They had a website, why couldn’t people just go to the website? If he had a dollar for every time someone called to ask a question that was already clearly stated in their FAQs, he could afford his own flight to Russia.

 

“All visa application details, including submission, interview, pickup, waiting times, and requirements can be found on our website. Applications are submitted through an accredited travel agency. Do you have our website?”

 

 He pulled up the Ambassador’s credentials on his work computer and lined it up for printing, as well as the upcoming schedules of the Embassy. What month was it?

 

“N-no.”

 

Jesus. It was on Google. May. It was May which meant that—

 

“M-I-D-dot-R-U. Mama india delta dot romeo ultra.” Yuri snapped out the letters and their corresponding call signals quickly, rote memorization allowing him to recite them without second thought as he quickly calculated the time left until National Day.

 

May meant one month until June. June 12 was national day. Preparations needed to be made immediately. Why didn’t Viktor—

 

“Uhm okay hold on i’m so sorry, the email address is so long—,” the comment snapped Yuri back into the conversation he was supposed to be having. Long? It was five letters. Unless—

 

“Mama... india...” the girl on the line was whispering softly.

 

Yuri cursed. Of all times why did he have to get the stupid caller now?

 

“It’s five letters: M-I-D-dot-R-U! Do you have any other questions?” Yuri tried his best to not let the snarl out but the squeak on the other end of the line indicated he hadn’t been successful. After a brief “no, thank you, bye” Yuri slammed the phone down and stood, quickly getting the files from the previous year’s national day and exiting his office.

 

“VIKTOR!!” He yelled, slamming the files down on the small coffee table in the middle of their lounge room. Not for the first time, Yuri wondered why an old superpower like Russia didn’t have a glamorous embassy and instead had a small office in a business district. Many friends he’d made in the country always thought that being an executive assistant in the Russian Embassy was glamorous, asking questions about the KGB in hushed tones, as though the old spectre of communism was still alive and looking over their shoulder. As if. But then, Yuri mused as he dropped onto a couch gracelessly, better to spend your money on rebuilding your old networks than making your offices pretty.

 

“Yuri! One would think your beauty would bring us visitors but instead you seem to be scaring them off!” Viktor emerged from his office on the other end of the embassy, meaning down the hall, an obnoxious heart smile on his face.

 

The Embassy wasn’t large, just a small office suite in a quiet building in the middle of a business district. Considering tourism to Russia wasn’t big where they were, it was enough. Just small enough to have a kitchen to cook their meals in, hold office for the Ambassador, the consular officer, their first political officer, Yuri, and their security. The small space was enough.

 

Yuri rolled his eyes at the comment, arranging the folders by category. “May I remind you that it was under Madame Lilia’s orders that we aren’t too friendly on the phone, in case we are inundated by idiot questions from people who don’t know how to read?” Viktor laughed.

 

Catering, events halls, invitations, call lists. Some updated, some needing update. Yuri filed them all.

 

“Was the caller one of those?” Viktor asked, picking up a folder that Yuri laid out and studying its contents. Yuri didn’t bother answering, and could see the moment the reason for the summons clicked in Viktor’s eyes.

 

“Ah is it our national day already? So exciting!! And so soon!!” Viktor flipped through the folders excitedly

 

“Yes Viktor, it’s in a month and two weeks; where are we going to find anyone that cooks Russian food?” It was a yearly concern.

 

“Food? It’s barely lunch!” A girl’s voice came from the consular section, revealing a pretty redhead with another batch of folders under her arm.

 

“Ah, Mila! Yuri has just summoned us to talk about the national day. Did you realize it’s only a month and a half from now?” Viktor was now running through the invitation list. “Will we have enough space again at the Residence? Will Yakov even be willing to have it at the Residence? We had 300 attendees last year, which was a good number. Are we inviting nationals again? There aren’t many here.”

 

“Well, how many did we piss off about Crimea?” Yuri muttered under his breath. Louder he said, “If Yakov wants it elsewhere we have to book the reservations now but the Residency is a better idea. Everyone knows where it is and security won’t be an issue. But we need to talk to Yakov first—what time is he in today anyway?”

Viktor, who was busy studying the invitation list, tapped his lip with an elegant finger thoughtfully. “He’s in at 2PM today, he has the European Union meeting, remember?” Yuri looked at the clock. It was 10am. Four hours, he could work with that.

 

Wait.

 

“Viktor, what the fuck are you still doing here!? You have the joint security meeting in an hour!” Yuri screeched, National Day forgotten. He scrambled to his feet, hastily moving to his office to retrieve the other files needed for Viktor’s meeting. “It’s down on 36th!” He found the minutes, quickly clipping them together in a folder and dropping them in front of Viktor, who was still looking at the invite list intently with Mila over his shoulder. Mila looked up at him.

 

“Oh Yuri, you’ll have to update this list, Sara from the Italian Embassy told me last night that the Japanese have a new Political Officer, he’s new and quite young. I think you’ll have to meet him today, Viktor.” Mila scanned the list again. “Oh and Yuri, expect a call from Kazakhstan. The MFA emailed this morning, did you see?”

 

Yuri frowned. An email from the MFA about Kazakhstan? No he hadn’t, but surely if that was the political officer they’d have discussed it already? But more importantly, Mila talking to Sara after hours? Now that was interesting.

 

“Oh, last night? Should we send the Italian delegation invite through you then, Mila? And update it to include Sara, instead of Michele? I mean, you might enjoy her company more….” Mila flushed.

 

“The Italian delegation is obviously invited, whether it is Sara or Michele that comes. Now get to that email from the MFA, it said something about being time-sensitive. I’ll tell Sara to expect an email invite before the card,” she said quickly, and left for the consular section. Viktor smiled, an elegant finger tapping his cheek thoughtfully.

 

“If it makes Mila feel better I’ll be seeing the new officer tomorrow anyway, it’s Minako’s send-off and she invited me,” he said, rising to go. “I’ll look for him today, and I’ll mention the national day to our colleagues. But do check the Kazakhstan email won’t you? It’s good our little brothers are reaching out, but best they don’t go too far West.” Yuri nodded and Viktor left, folders and files in tow.

 

As soon as the lounge was quiet again, Yuri sighed and leaned against the couch. It was only 10:30. Fuck, he hated Wednesdays.

 

+

 

Yuri was looking at Russian food options when the phone rang. The email from the foreign ministry was pulled up on his second screen, cryptic as any email from any foreign ministry. All it said was someone would be calling at 1pm and if he would be so kind as to answer some questions from the Kazakh ministry representative about visa arrangements and co-representation?

 

Yuri picked up the phone, eyes glued to the screen. No Russian restaurants in the area, but one with a Ukrainian-Russian chef? Yuri snorted. Ironic if they needed a Ukrainian to cook them Russian food; he might poison the borscht if it turned out he was from Kyiv or was pissed off about Dnepropetrovsk.

 

“Да, Посольство России.” Yuri scrolled down, looking at the number and noting it down in a yellow pad right next to his monitor.

 

“Да, Отабек Алтин, Министерство иностранных дел Казахстан?” A smooth, deep voice came through the line. Yuri smiled to himself. Otabek Altin was a semi-regular caller to the Embassy as Kazakhstan and Russia remained close allies after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Russia often collaborated on oil resource development and research with Kazakhstan in the region; in return Russia provided unofficial assistance to its nationals in the country. Of late Kazakhstan seemed to want to branch out on its own and the calls between the Embassies were becoming more frequent; Otabek Altin and Yuri Plisetsky thus developed an unlikely professional friendship over grousing about memorandums, stiff language, and post-Soviet bureaucracy.

 

“Ah Otabek, yes, this is Yuri. It’s good to hear from you again, how can I help you?” Small mercies that they both spoke Russian, he thought. At least he wouldn’t have to think in English.

 

“Ah Plisetsky, thanks for taking the call. I need to set up a meeting with the Ambassador about discussing the MoA sent by our Foreign Ministry, how busy is he?”

 

MoA? Yuri frowned. The last one was sent months ago, something about handling Kazakhstan concerns through the Russian Embassy?

 

“Is this the one about us handling concerns of Kazakh nationals and foreign tourists in lieu of a local consular officer?” He asked, quickly pulling up the file and Ambassador Yakov’s schedule. Yes, that was the last Note Verbale. Next free day: a lot. “You’re in luck, the Ambassador’s schedule hasn’t filled up this month. When are you expecting to be in town to discuss?”

 

Otabek hummed. “End of May or start of June. In principle we are ready for the agreement implementation but we need Ambassador Feltsman’s approval first. In addition, I believe our Ministry wanted to discuss some agreements between our foreign services.” As Otabek spoke, Yuri found himself doodling on his pad, content to listen to the warm voice washing over him. Over time he found himself looking forward to Otabek’s calls; more than once Yuri wished for a chance to meet him. Maybe he would get that chance soon?

 

“Would that be possible?”

 

“Ah-yes, yes that’s possible,” Yuri answered, “Ambassador Feltsman hasn’t got much in his calendar for the month, so arranging the meeting closer to the date of your arrival would work. Regarding the other agreements, we can sort that out later. Just send me the notes ahead of time so I can give it to the Ambassador; you know how the old ones get,” Yuri rolled his eyes. Otabek released an amused hum; though they had never met, Yuri had spoken to him enough times to be able to distinguish the lilts and tones in Altin’s voice.

 

“Yes I am aware,” he said dryly. “Thanks again, Plisetsky.”

 

“Yuri,” Yuri quickly corrected him, then immediately cursed himself for doing so. “Yuri is fine; I mean we’ve been talking long enough don’t you think?”

 

“Oh, then please call me Otabek. Thank you again.” He could hear a small smile in Otabek’s voice before he hung up.

 

Yuri hung up and stared at the phone. A deep, smoky voice that spoke Russian with a slight Kazakh accent just brightened up his day a little bit. More than once Yuri wondered how he would look like – surely a man with such a wonderful voice had an equally wonderful face to go with it?

 

A knock on the door of his office broke him out of his musings. Mila stood, a large FedEx box in her hands.

 

“The diplomatic pouch is here,” she said, dropping it on Yuri’s couch. She handed him a smaller parcel. “Yakov’s sunglasses also arrived.” Yuri scowled.

 

“Did Yakov just use the diplomatic pouch to try and get out of customs for his shit? Is that the pouch from Moscow?” he asked, opening the parcel. Yes, encased in the little box was a pair of sunglasses, brand new. Yakov had sent them off for repair in Hong Kong. Mila raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

 

“Well, you know Yakov. Maybe he asked Lilia to send it through the pouch - saves him paying for customs fees and us the hassle of going to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs here and asking for protocol’s sign off for the tax importation exemption.” Yuri was about to protest the illegality then remembered the ill-tempered head of the Russia and Eastern Europe section of the Protocol department. The department head was already pissed off at the Russian Embassy for the last time they received personal packages without warning - Viktor had forgotten to give ample warning for the packages arriving which resulted in Yuri asking the head of Protocol for a little more leeway so they wouldn’t have to pay taxes. The department head cursed at him for his forgetfulness, but Yuri shrugged his ire off. Time was money, and money was money. That didn’t mean he wanted to go through it again, however.

 

“Whatever, at least he’ll quit whining about it.” Yuri put the sunglasses away and on top of the rest of the files to hand to Yakov later in the day, phone call already forgotten.

 

+

 

At precisely 14:00 Ambassador Yakov Feltsman walked through the doors of his office, the Head of Security behind him. Yuri closed his Instagram and put his phone down in anticipation.

 

A minute later, the phone rang. “Yuri, a coffee please.”

 

Yuri rolled his eyes but stood from his office, walking to the small kitchen and preparing the black coffee the Ambassador preferred. He left the sugar and the milk on the side on the small tray, and brought it to the office. After placing them on the table while the Ambassador opened his email, he returned the tray to the pantry and stopped by his office to get the printouts of various invitations and emails before returning to the office. “Lots of mail today?” Yakov asked as Yuri settled in the seat.

 

“Yes, the diplomatic pouch arrived with the requirements from Moscow and the passports with the visas for tourists. They want the monthly expense report, and we received the note verbale from Astana. There was also a letter of protest from the Romanians about Ukraine, a letter of protest from Ukraine, and an unrelated letter from the European Union. There are also fifteen invitations waiting for your approval, your schedule for the week, and we have to discuss the small matter of our national day being a month and a half away.” Yakov turned around after marking his emails as read.

 

“Ignore Romania and Ukraine. They can quit whining about it, it’s been three years. Romania attended our National Day last year anyway. Georgi should have the expense report ready and Mila should send the visa applications with the next pouch. There is a note verbale we need to discuss-- I assume the Kazakh ministry called you today?”

 

“Yeah, the political officer said he’d be here in three weeks and wanted to see you about our Embassy representing Kazakhstan in the meantime. I guess it’s temporary while they get their shit together long enough to have an actual Embassy.” Yuri handed him the two-page document from the pouch that came in. Yakov scanned the letter.

 

“You know they wanted to co-locate with the Embassy,” he mentioned casually, highlighting something on the document. Yuri raised an eyebrow.

 

“Where the fuck would they sit?” he asked. “Mila would be pissed if Kazakhstan took over the consular section. Besides, I don’t want to have to cross two territories just to get to work. Or like, to give Mila something in the consular section. Mila would have to cross two territories to pee!” Yakov rolled his eyes.

 

“Why do you think I turned it down?” he asked gruffly, flipping the page on the note. “Write this down:

 

‘The Russian Embassy agrees with the proposal of the Foreign Ministry of Kazakhstan to act as a liaison and representative of the nation of Kazakhstan in the acts of assisting any Kazakh nationals in distress within its jurisdiction, or in acting as liaison for any foreign nationals in this jurisdiction interested in visiting the Republic of Kazakhstan.

 

However, the Embassy will bear no responsibility for any Kazakh nationals in distress and will act solely as a forwarder of applications to the foreign ministry in Astana through the use of its diplomatic pouch, and will make no judgements or decisions on behalf of the Kazakhstan government in Astana.

 

All actions to be undertaken by the Russian Embassy remain representative in nature until such time that other arrangements are made and signed by representatives in Moscow and Astana, or until such time that the Foreign Ministry in Kazakhstan or the Foreign Ministry of Russia chooses to cease this agreement.

 

Should this be in order the Russian Embassy will agree to meet and host any representative of the Kazakh government in order to formalize this agreement at a date and time that is convenient for both parties.

 

H.E. Ambassador Yakov Felstman’.”

 

Yuri wrote quickly on the legal pad in his hand. “I’ll ask Mila for the stamp and send this out with the diplomatic pouch after you sign. The next shipment is on Friday.” Yakov nodded his approval, rifling through the invitations in front of him. For an old man, he did have a lot of energy. After sorting the invitations into two piles, he handed Yuri one pile and dropped the rest into the trash bin at his feet.

 

“This is the not-shit pile?” Yuri asked, looking through it and counting the invitations. “This is a lot of national days, you’re going to all of them?”

 

“No, it’s you, Mila, or Viktor.” Yuri’s head snapped up and he glared at the old man. “I’m too old for this. You’re 21, you do it.”

 

“Yakov, I hate this shit,” Yuri all but whined, seeing as with the number of confirmations he’d have to send out, there was a chance he’d have to go to at least three banquets. Ugh, the European Chamber of Commerce again? Did they ever stop?  

 

At least Japan usually had good food. But Americans on July 4? Insufferable. Also, were they still invited, considering the rising suspicion that Russia hacked their elections? (Yuri marked that with a “Y”, in the off-chance that the invitation was withdrawn or Yakov felt it was necessary he attended in person.) Yuri had no opinion. Each population had their own stupidity, Yuri decided long ago, as he set the British Chamber of Commerce invitation down (he marked it with “M” – they had dull food but Sara was probably going to be there). No one was safe from human stupidity.

 

“Most would be grateful for free food, you know,” Yakov pointed out. Yuri made a face.

 

“Getting dressed and pretending I like people? Hell no.” He said, marking another invitation.

 

“At least we will never have a problem with you scaring idiots away,” Yakov said blandly. Yuri flashed a feral grin.

 

“Lilia trained me well,” he replied. “Speaking of training me well, it’s a month and two weeks before the national day.” Yakov stared at him.

 

“And no one has prepared anything!?” he demanded. “Where is Viktor!? Start the preparations, where are we having them? Have we sent invitations? Is there anyone that can cook good traditional Russian food or are we going to have to settle with Yugoslav!?”

 

“There’s a Ukrainian-Russian chef with a restaurant nearby, I’ll give him a call. All the old restaurants like Pravda are closed now. We were thinking about having it at the Residency,” said, setting down the menus in front of him. “Will we invite Russian nationals? They live away from the capital.” Yakov grunted.

 

“Get me a wine and a vodka list, but not too much,” he said. “We don’t want those bastards getting wasted on the lawn like last year. The Residency is fine, but help will be needed with the ingress. Make sure the chef has some Russian blood so he’s less likely to kill us for what we did in Crimea.” Yuri scribbled down the instructions, making a note on the margins to call the event supplier they usually hired for the occasion. As he stood to leave, he remembered Otabek and the call earlier.

 

“Oh Yakov, the representative from the Kazakh MFA will be here around that time,” he said, turning the handle. “He wanted to meet with you.” Yakov dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

 

“Send him an invite, I’ll meet with him when he arrives,” he said, and Yuri left the office.

 

He settled back into office, dumping the paperwork into neat stacks on his desk. He sat down on his office chair and sighed.

 

What a long fucking day.

 

+

 

Viktor came in the next day, disposition sunny as always. “Mila! I met the new Japanese Political Officer you were talking about at the meeting today. He’s quite shy.”

 

“Next to you, fucking Axel Rose would be shy,” Yuri grumbled, setting his bag down on his desk. “Oi you said you’d help me out with the event arrangements and the invitations!”

 

“Ah yes I remember agreeing to that of course! I’ve emailed you the event manager’s number, but I have to prepare for the meeting with the Ambassador Nishigori. But they are inviting us for Minako’s send-off banquet next week. You should come Yuri, Minako was fond of you.” Yuri made a face.

 

“Fine, but only because I like Minako. But don’t you dare abandon me with the invitations, you know everyone!” He said, brandishing the invite list. Viktor smiled and turned to go to his office.

 

“After the meeting, I promise!”

 

Yuri sighed and opened the file. He hadn’t updated it in a year, but no gossip of any other departures had reached him besides Minako’s. He was surprised she was being replaced by a much younger officer, but young talent was always welcome among the diplomatic corps, if only to make things more interesting.

 

He started sorting the lists by priority invites: the world’s superpowers first and foremost, post-Soviet states next, Eastern Europeans embassies, large trading partners in the region, other countries that they knew of but didn’t really interact with, and prominent business and international organizations. Sighing, Yuri figured he would start with the easiest ones, and picked up the phone and rang the European Union. 

 

“European Union, hello,” a sultry voice floated through the line, and Yuri instantly recognized the voice of the European Union Ambassador’s executive assistant, Christophe Giacommetti.

 

“Chris, it’s Yuri,” Yuri replied. “We’re planning our national day.”

 

“A mon cher! How nice to hear from you again,” Chris replied, “it has been a while.”

 

“I literally spoke to you two days ago.”

 

“Yes but are we not allies? Should we not be speaking always? Why, I have not even met you yet in my years with the Union!” Yuri rolled his eyes.

 

“I’ve been here five months, Chris, but if you’re so excited to be allies you should come to our national day on the 12th of June and tell your Ambassador to drop the protests about Crimea, since Ukraine didn’t even let us in for Eurovision that one time.”

 

“You would have sucked anyway.”

 

“Like yours was any better!? Switzerland sucks consistently! At least we had Serebro!”

 

“In the past, mon cher, like the glory of Russia. But wait, a party? Is the invite for me?”

 

“Your Ambassador, Chris! But yeah, come if you’d like.”

 

“12 June… you are in luck. The Ambassador is set to leave on the 14th, he may make it to the party. If not, I will be there.” Yuri marked the space on his sheet as Tentative, and noted Chris’ name next to it.

 

“Cool. First and Second officers invited, if you want to bring them.”

 

“Perfect, mon cher. Maybe this time I will get to finally meet the Ice Tiger in person.” Yuri resisted the urge to strangle himself with the cord. He snapped at the Canadian Ambassador once when he was new and received the nickname Ice Tiger in return. He had hoped no-one heard, but the diplomatic circle was small enough that all the assistants did. The Canadian Political Officer being a jerk with a massive ego who seemed to have it out for Yuri was no help either.

 

“Ugh whatever bye Chris, let me know,” Yuri replied and hung up the phone.

 

Next on his list: the Americans.

 

+

 

The morning inched by in a series of phone calls to the world’s superpowers: Americans (yes - barring any further diplomatic incidents, noted Leo dela Iglesia with a smile in his voice), China (yes of course!), France (yes), Germany (yes), Britain (yes, also barring any international incidents). Yuri was about to call the Canadian embassy when the phone rang, and Yuri did not feel the least bit sorry that he hadn’t attended to any visa inquiries the whole morning.

 

“Да?” He asked into the phone.

 

“Yuri, for the Italian Embassy, remember also to invite Celestino Cialdini. He is the attaché in Bangkok at the moment and will be in town around the time of the event,” Mila’s voice floated through the receiver. Yuri growled as he quickly typed in Celestino’s name into the invite list. That’s another head for the catering, he thought.

 

“Is he bringing anyone else?” Yuri asked. That brought the Italian count up to four, potentially. One more and Michele was definitely off the list, not that Yuri minded. He was always a bit creepy towards his own sister.

 

Speaking of Sara…

 

“Yes, his local assistant Phichit Chulanont will be with him. Apparently, Phichit is popular with the staff here and is the reason why their Embassy page in Bangkok is so active,” Mila replied, papers shuffling in the background. Yuri smirked.

 

“Oh really? And how come you seem to know so much about the Italian Embassy affairs suddenly, baba?” He asked slyly. Mila squeaked.

 

“Ah Sara mentioned it yesterday when she told me about Celestino’s arrival,” her voice was a pitch higher, Yuri noticed.

 

“Ah yeah, I would have thought to hear about it from Viktor or Yakov but Sara, really? Nice for you to be making friends in your old age, baba,” he teased.

 

“Oi don’t think I didn’t notice your calls with Altin, Yuri,” Mila retorted, “I’m not the only one smiling into the phone when it rings.” Yuri spluttered, feeling caught.

 

“None of your business, Mila!” He yelled. Mila laughed and hung up. Yuri rolled his eyes, though Mila couldn’t see it. Mila was always having one fling or another, usually other Russians in the already small circles, or other diplomats he couldn’t stand. They were just so fucking boring.

 

Sara, though? Yuri could already sense that Sara might be different. He remembered meeting her briefly at the Italian National Day the previous year, and again at the European Union day celebrations. He remembered her as a wickedly smart and attractive lady with piercing purple eyes, olive skin, and long brown hair.

 

He also remembered her creepily close twin, Michele, and made a face. Well, if Mila wanted another girl he couldn’t blame her- Sara was better than the boring diplomats and banker guys she kept dating anyway.

 

The phone rang, and Yuri picked it up without a second thought. “что?” he barked.

 

“Hey Yuri, is this a bad time?”

 

Otabek’s smoky voice drifted through the line, and Yuri smacked his forehead on his palm.

 

“Otabek! No, no this is fine, sorry, my colleague was giving me shit,” Yuri said in one breath, glaring at Mila, who was just striding by his office on the way to the toilet. She blew him a kiss when she saw him on the phone; in exchange he raised his middle finger in greeting. “What do you need?”

 

Otabek let out an amused huff.

 

“You too?” He asked. Yuri snorted rather gracelessly.

 

“What do you mean ‘you too’? You don’t sound like the type that would get shit,” he retorted.

 

“You sound surprised? Why do you think I wouldn’t get shit? My colleagues give me shit for my motorbike all the time,” he said with a slight laugh. Yuri gawked at the phone, disbelieving. _A motorbike? Why would anyone get shit for that; that’s so cool!?_

 

Out loud he said, “I dunno, your voice sounds so deep and shit. And a motorbike sounds pretty awesome.” He was aiming for casual and missed it by a mile. God, he sounded like a dork. Fortunately, if Otabek noticed, he kept it to himself.

 

“Yeah, it is, do you use one?” Otabek asked. Yuri shook his head before remembering Otabek couldn’t see him. Sometimes when Otabek was early at work, they would talk like this, a little friendlier than their professions strictly allowed. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Yuri liked these moments when he could go beyond strict professionalism that was expected and just really bitch about the job to someone else that would understand. Underneath the glitz and glamour of diplomatic life were some really boring tasks and equally boring people— the other side of it was a lot of confidential information and some real worry about the direction where the world was heading. Yuri wasn’t normally one to worry about the second, but sometimes it was just nice to bitch to someone about the stupid note verbale they got the other day or having to get the Ambassador’s sunglasses from Hong Kong. Then there were the banquets where you had to smile for the cameras and pretend you didn’t want to cry from boredom and all the pretentious airs.

 

“Nah, I don’t have a license. But it sounds pretty awesome anyway. I just get shit for being the youngest and looking like a girl. Anyway,” Yuri changed the topic as he saw Georgi pass by the hall, “speaking of getting shit, I brought up the note verbale with Yakov yesterday and we’ll be sending the reply to you via diplomatic pouch on Friday. I’ll send you a scanned copy as it goes out too, if you like?”

 

“That would be helpful, thank you, Yuri,” Otabek replied, tone all business now. “Have you been able to ask the Ambassador about a meeting?”

 

“Yes, he said we’d arrange it when you have your arrival date in the country. It’s also in the note verbale that we will be hosting whichever representative will be coming,” Yuri said, pulling up the note on his computer and pressing ‘print’.

 

“Good. It is increasingly likely it will be June, but I will let you know as soon as I know. Will I get to meet you, or will you be back home in Russia after the national day?” Otabek asked casually, and Yuri felt a flush creep up his neck.

 

“I-I don’t know just yet,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “But it would be nice to meet you; we’ve been speaking for five months, after all.” Otabek laughed on the other line.

 

“Already? Well Yuri, let’s hope all goes well, it would be nice to meet a friend,” he said. Yuri smiled.

 

“Yes, it would. Anyway, I’ve got to go, take care on your bike! I’ll let you know when the pouch goes out so you can expect it there in Astana,” he said.

 

“Sure, thank you again Yuri. Talk to you again soon,” Otabek replied, and they hung up the phone. Yuri smiled and stood to collect the papers from the office printer. He was stapling the documents together when he heard a voice pipe up from behind him.

 

“So he’s got a motorbike, are you gonna ride him-I mean, it?” Mila asked, a sly grin lighting up her pretty features. Yuri feigned ignorance.

 

“Bye, baba,” he said, and shut himself in his office, dialing the number for the caterer.

 

+

 

Yuri skipped Minako’s send-off party and texted her with a promise to meet for coffee in lieu, but he immediately sensed trouble when Viktor Nikiforov practically floated into the office.

 

“Oi, did you tell the delegations last night about the National Day?” He asked as Viktor walked past his office, a dreamy smile on his face.

 

“Yuri!!! Yes, yes I did!” He said, changing route and walking into Yuri’s small office instead. “I invited Ambassador Nishigori last night to the event! And Yuri, I invited their new political officer too, I think he’ll enjoy himself!” Yuri’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Did you invite him as your date?” He asked suspiciously. Viktor flashed his heart-shaped smile and Yuri groaned.

 

“You met him once, Viktor!” He said, exasperated.

 

“Yes! And sometimes you only need to meet once to know he’s the one,” Viktor replied dreamily. “Yuri, he’s so shy and handsome, and when he gets drunk… he can dance so well!”

 

Mila giggled as she passed the office.

 

“You missed a party, Yuri!” She called, walking to the office pantry. “Yuuri got so drunk he stripped and started dancing on a table! The Japanese are pretty wild!” Yuri made a face.

 

“That is disgusting, why would he do that!?” He demanded in horror. Just thinking about it made him cringe.

 

“He was so cute,” Viktor crooned, “and so sexy. My god, his abs! He’s just the perfect eros.” Yuri blanched.

 

“I don’t want to know anything about him before I’ve met him and if you’ve got nothing else you can get out of my office!”

 

“Oh Yuri, one day you’ll see,” Viktor said, “one day you’ll run into the love of your life despite that scowl on your face!”

 

“If you find any loves of your lives, then great, but I don’t want to hear about any stripping during banquets,” a stern voice growled, and they looked to find Ambassador Feltsman at the door. Viktor grinned.

 

“Yakov! Does that mean I have your approval?” He teased. Yakov scowled.

 

“Just don’t land yourself in the news,” he said, “and get me the report on Russian trade with East Asia; if you’re going to start fraternizing with the Japanese boy let’s put it good use!” Yuri rolled his eyes, and Viktor all but floated out of his office and down the hall. Yakov looked at Yuri.

 

“Yuri, coffee please. And compile a report on the number of Kazakh nationals here and the inquiries we have regarding their visa processes; I don’t expect it to be long. And compile another report on Russian nationals and tourists going to Russia; I want to see the flow of movements in and out of the country. Thank you.” Yakov listed his requirements, and left the office.

 

Yuri turned to his computer, and got to work.

 

+

 

The week passed in a flurry of calls to suppliers, paperwork, confirmations (“thank you JJ, feel free not to attend”), meetings, and even more paperwork. Yakov must have been serious about helping the Kazakh foreign ministry out; increasingly he had been locked in his office speaking to Lilia about the agreement, and at times with the foreign minister himself. Yuri knew better than to think it was all out of post-Soviet brotherhood and cooperation, even if that was what Yakov touted; Yuri’s documents on Kazakhstan’s tourism numbers and economic investments in the region said otherwise. Not that the numbers were significant; Russia still vastly outweighed Kazakhstan’s numbers in trade and tourism. Kazakhstan was steadily looking outward, but Russia was a bit obsessive about their sphere of influence, like any former empire.

 

The good thing about Kazakhstan’s sudden expansion was that Yuri found himself talking to Otabek far more often. Yuri found himself hoping for a reason to ring the Kazakhstan ministry, or for Otabek to call, even if it was for the absurd reason of asking about visa policies- policies they both knew well.

 

It was when Yuri found himself laughing with Otabek on the phone while exchanging tourist frustrations and visa application horror stories that Yuri finally began to consider that maybe his interest in the political officer from Kazakhstan may not be limited to a professional role after all.

 

+

 

“Yuri, my office please, and bring the documents from Moscow and Astana.”

 

Yakov’s gruff voice came through the line, and Yuri stifled a yawn. He had been up late the previous day, a rare time when he had to stay late at the office, and came in early to get a head start on the remaining invitations for the National Day. While Viktor had distributed most of the invitations to the European delegations and the Japanese delegation, Yuri found himself constantly having to update the existing lists and re-sending the invitations after finding that the Heads of Mission or various officers were being replaced, their tours of duty over. After that, there was the never-ending list of confirmations he had to do.

 

Events management, Yuri decided, was not his thing. He picked up and rifled through the diplomatic pouch that had come in the day before, making sure that the documents had been stamped as received by Mila or himself, before hauling it to Yakov’s office.

 

“Memoranda signed yet?” He asked as he entered, dropping the documents on the coffee table before dropping himself onto Yakov’s couch. Yakov grunted and held his hand out for the documents.

 

“Yes, and we’ll be having some friends joining us soon,” he replied, taking a thick folder marked “МОСКВА” from Yuri and opening it. Yuri raised an eyebrow, his heart skipping a beat in hope.

 

“Oh?” He asked casually, opening the folder marked “АСТАНА”. “Visitors or co-habitors?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been slacking with the National Day coming up,” Yakov said, and Yuri growled.

 

“I’ll have you know it’s because I’ve been focusing on the National Day that we’ll have a National Day at all,” he bit out. “Viktor’s too wrapped up in the Japanese boy to help out. Meanwhile I’ve got the caterer lined up and they’ll bring a proposal and samplers today.” Yakov grunted his approval.

 

“Viktor is my star political officer and he’ll get intelligence from Katsuki but even I’m not blind enough to think it’s just intelligence he’s after,” he said. Yuri shrugged.

 

“He seemed pretty taken with him after he started stripping,” he said nonchalantly.

 

“As long as he’s not spilling secrets,” Yakov said, his mouth set in a firm line. Yuri doubted it. Viktor may be in love with what Yuri considered an embarrassment to the profession, but he wasn’t likely to spill his guts to get in someone’s pants. He was great when it was the other way around, though – Viktor was highly respected and highly favored for a reason.

 

Yakov held a hand out for the other file, and Yuri handed it to him dutifully. Behind them, Viktor and Mila entered the office, quietly closing the door behind them.

 

“Speaking of friendships, I heard of yours and the Kazakh officer,” Yakov mentioned offhandedly, scanning the documents. Mila forced back a giggle and Viktor smiled widely. Yuri forced himself to restrain the blush creeping up his pale neck.

 

“We have been speaking as needed,” he said, hoping he was succeeding. “Is there a problem?” Yakov smirked.

 

“No, but the minister has noted that his political officer seems to be quite interested in the success of this little project. I suspect it’s not just the excitement of setting up a new embassy that’s exciting to him,” he replied, leaning back and studying Yuri while Viktor flashed him a heart-shaped smile. Failed at that, then.

 

“Well, embassies are serious— wait, an Embassy!? I thought we were doing consular representation for them?” Yuri looked at Yakov, confused.

 

“So we were right to guess their expansion?” Viktor hummed as Yakov handed him a separate file and began to read, finger tapping his lip. Mila crossed her arms and huffed.

 

“Does that mean I have to do more work?” She asked.

 

“Oh shut up hag, we don’t get that many visa requests. Even the World Cup didn’t get that many applications since the MFA said they’d be visa-free anyway,” Yuri rolled his eyes as he spoke. Mila smirked.

 

“You just want an excuse to talk to your mysterious caller,” she teased.

 

“I do not! Besides, you do the same with Sara,” Yuri pointed out, and it was Mila’s turn to blush.

 

“Enough!” Yakov yelled. “Is this an Embassy or a dating agency? First Viktor running off to woo the Japanese political officer, then Mila flirting with the Italian consular officer? What next, Georgi will get over Anya!?”

 

“Actually that would be Yuri maybe dating the Kazakh political officer, considering he’s already flirting with him,” Mila said, a wide grin spreading across her face. Yuri made a face as Yakov glared at all three.

“Remember which Embassy you work for,” was all he said as he handed the document marked “АСТАНА” back to Yuri. Yuri read it out loud carefully. He would have to deal with this himself, after all.

 

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2n9cuc)

 

“An Embassy in… 2025?”” Yuri asked, eyes wide. “They’re moving quick! Have they appointed an Ambassador? Have they said who the local staff would be? Do we know?”

 

“Lilia will be so glad to hear about your interest in their political developments, I’m sure,” Yakov commented, rolling his eyes. “Too bad you never seem as interested in our own affairs.”

 

“That’s because you need to assign someone hot to the embassy,” Mila teased with a laugh. “Seriously though, if it’s only a year or so that shouldn’t be too bad.”

 

“Have we drafted a reply?” Yuri asked, reaching for the МОСКВА file on Yakov’s table. Yakov grunted.

 

“Yes, the arrangement was signed by the Foreign Ministry last week after we sent our agreement. It seems to have been arranged directly between Moscow and Astana; our agreement was a formality,” he said, though he didn’t seem too pleased. Yuri fought to keep the grin off his face. Maybe he would get to meet his friend after all.

 

“To more pressing details, we’re almost set for the National Day,” Viktor noted, taking out a sheet of paper marked with Ys and Ns. The head of security, Georgi, stepped into the room just then.

 

“Yuri, behave before they find a reason to blame us for something again,” he commented as he sat. “If the American Ambassador gets a heart attack they might claim we poisoned him on purpose and start World War III.”

 

“American Ambassador? Probably not. But the Canadian Ambassador because Yuri wanted to kill the Political Officer…” Viktor trailed off with a smile and Georgi groaned.

 

“What, he’s not wrong,” Yuri muttered, and Yakov rubbed his temple.

 

“Yuri,” Georgi and Yakov warned.

 

“Keep me away from JJ and his wife and I can promise no murder,” he muttered, fixing the files and handing Yakov the final proposal from the caterer.

 

“Is this from the Ukrainian caterer?” Yakov asked, scanning the menu. Yuri nodded.

 

“Ukrainian?” Georgi asked, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Yuri rolled his eyes.

 

“Ukrainian-Russian,” he corrected, “his mother is Russian that lived in Servastopol, his father is from Kyiv. Worked in Moscow. Should be safe.”

 

“At least if he poisons the food, we all die,” Georgi observed somewhat cheerfully, and Mila groaned.

 

+

 

Yakov watched his staff amusedly, a slight smile on his face. An old man now with a balding patch that he had given up on ignoring, he had been serving in the diplomatic corps for the last forty years, back when Russia was still known as the Soviet Union and through the fall of the Iron Curtain and the changing of the world. Though stern, he trained his staff well, and his small Embassy outpost was becoming one of the favorite listening posts for the Ministry because of the people in his office.

 

Viktor was one of the best of his intelligence gatherers and political officers with a keen eye for political developments in developing and often ignored but geographically strategic countries, and Yuri, though still in a mostly secretarial role, was poised to be the same. Times were changing, and Yakov knew the Embassy would change with it. But he was proud of his people: fiercely Russian yet with hearts and sense tempered by their time spent outside Russia and the world perspective that came with it.

 

It pleased him to know his younger staff were now starting to find lives outside of their work. He only hoped that they didn’t end when tours of duty inevitably came to a close.

 

“Okay that’s enough,” he said, quelling Mila and Yuri’s bickering. “Yuri, make the deposit this afternoon and finalize the menus. Add some sashlik and blini, please, and make sure there are halal options for our Muslim guests. Georgi, tomorrow head to the caterer and coordinate the logistics for ingress and secure the Residence with the diplomatic police and protocol. Mila, prepare the consular office and start studying where to fit a spare officer in case Astana starts sending scouts to look at potential embassy locations. Viktor, see what we can get out of this arrangement with Kazakhstan. Get to work.” With that, everyone dispersed to their corners of the Embassy.

 

+

 

“Да, Ресей хаттамасы?” Yuri grinned when he heard Otabek’s voice.

 

“Hey Otabek, it’s Yuri. Did you hear about the MoA?” he asked.

 

“Hey Yuri,” Otabek replied, “yes I did, I’m working on it. Any developments?”

 

“They sent us the copy today,” Yuri said, “so I was wondering if you know who I’ll have to be dealing with all the time here.”

 

“Oh,” was all Otabek said, though Yuri could hear a smile in his voice. “That’s good news. They have not announced the posting and I don’t know who will be applying among the officers. I know we’ll be sending an advance party beforehand.”

 

“That’s pretty cool,” Yuri replied, trying to squash the disappointment in his voice. He wasn’t really expecting Otabek to know just yet, but he had hoped maybe Otabek had been approached for the job.

 

“I know who the advance party are though.”

 

“Oh?” Yuri perked up. “Who?”

 

“Protocol office, head of the Asia department, me.” Yuri could barely contain the grin that threatened to split his face in half as he noted them down.

 

“You! That’s so cool! When will you be here? How long? Do you think you’ll make it for our National Day?”

 

“June 12, right? I think so, we’ll be there for a few days on the second week of June.”

 

Yuri punched the air.

 

“Sweet! I’ll send you an invite for your delegation. You better be there! And we better hang out!”

 

Over the phone, Yuri heard Otabek laugh.

 

“I will. It will be good to finally meet you.” Yuri felt himself warm a little bit.

 

“It really will,” he replied, suddenly looking forward to the National Day.

 

+

 

The remaining weeks passed in a blur of phone calls, printed schedules, notices of consular office schedule adjustments, caterers, and endless noted between Moscow, Astana, the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs- Department of Protocol and the Embassy to finalize the visit of Kazakhstan’s representatives.

 

Yuri found himself drafting notes to local Protocol nearly everyday, but it was made better by Otabek’s near-daily phone calls. It was looking increasingly likely that he would be assigned to the new Embassy once it opened; he had previously been posted abroad despite being young, and knew the difficulties of opening a new office. Yuri couldn’t wait to meet him.

 

While on the phone one day, on a whim Yuri had asked Otabek if he would have liked to stay longer. From there it evolved into exchanging phone numbers and WhatsApp messages. Initially it had been for work, to check if a memo had arrived or a diplomatic pouch had been dispatched, but it soon evolved to sending each other ridiculous cat and post-Soviet memes.

 

Yuri Plisetsky

Hey. You gonna stay longer than four days or what?

 

Otabek Altin

Yeah, might as well if I’m going to take a 15h flight.

 

Yuri Plisetsky

15 fucking hours, that’s what you get for living in the fucking mountains where no one goes.

 

Otabek Altin

Says the guy in a country so small the Russian Embassy is in an office.

 

Yuri Plisetsky

Oi at least we have an Embassy!

 

Otabek Altin

Good point.

 

Otabek Altin

Know a place I can rent a bike?

 

+

 

otabek-altin followed you.

 

yuri_plisetsky followed you.

[IMAGE: A motorbike parked by a ridge overlooking a city.]

yuri_plisetsky replied to your story

Wtf you have a bike???

Wtf!??

 

otabek-altin

I told you this last month?

 

Yuri_plisetsky

You said you got shit for it, you didn’t say you owned it

 

otabek-altin

Details

Are those seriously all your cats?

 

yuri_plisetsky

No but they will be

Cats for life mothafuckaa

You like cats right

This is important

 

otabek-altin

no i prefer bears

 

yuri_plisetsky

FUCKIN BLOCKED

 

+

 

 The day that he followed Otabek on Instagram was the day Yuri realized he was fucked.

 

“Fuck he’s actually hot…” he muttered to himself as he stepped into the relative safety of his office.

 

Relative was the key term.

 

“Oooh is that the Kazakh guy?” Mila asked behind him.

 

“FUCK,” Yuri yelled in surprise as he angled his phone away from her. “Also, yes,”

 

“He’s hot and has a bike,” Mila commented, “you could ride either one.”

 

“What the fuck Mila!”

 

“I’m just saying…”

 

“Don’t you have visa applications to deny?”

 

“Don’t you have a memo and follow-up emails to send?”

 

“FUCK.”

 

+

 

“Hi Yuri,” Yuri picked up the phone to hear Seung-gil Lee’s voice.

 

“Hi, Seung-gil,” he replied, slightly confused. It was three days before the arrival of the Kazakh delegation and five before the National Day. Things were getting hectic in the embassy.

 

“I was calling about the National Day. I will be attending instead of Ambassador Park; he has to travel on that date,” Seung-gil said, all business. Yuri appreciated that about him, stern as he was. Yuri noted it down in his sheet.

 

“Hey Seung, is Korea still in charge of the Embassy fees and the diplomatic corps through to 2025?” Yuri asked.

 

“Yes we are. Payment for the quarterly fees are almost due. Is there something we should know?”

 

“There is a new Embassy being set up in 2025.”

 

 “Oh, a Russian consulate?”

 

“No, an Embassy. We’ve received word from the Kazakhstan foreign ministry.”

 

“Embassy of Kazakhstan, a small one?”

 

“Yeah, like ours.”

 

“Good, not a problem then. Thanks.”

 

Yuri said his goodbyes to Seung-Gil and placed the phone back on the receiver. He stood and walked to Yakov’s office, schedule in hand.

 

“I’ve prepared your schedule for the week,” he said, placing the papers on his desk. “The Kazakh delegation arrives on Monday. They’ll be staying for four days, and they’ll be here for National Day.”

 

“So they’re attending? Good.” Yakov scanned his schedule. “Reserve my Tuesday for them, I suspect we will have a lot to talk about.”

 

+

 

Tuesday arrived, and Yuri, Mila, and Viktor all made sure to be in the office half an hour earlier than usual to make sure that the Embassy was presentable and that Yuri had an extra dose of caffeine. All three dressed smartly and the office was as neat as it could be. Yuri prepared the four teacups and saucers on a tray in the pantry, made sure there was fresh coffee and milk, remembered Kazakhs often preferred tea, made sure there was hot water in the kettle, and thanked past Yuri for remembering to restock the tea.

 

Yakov arrived early, with Georgi at the door while Mila and Viktor waited in Yakov’s office. Yuri was in his, finalizing the arrangements for the national day with officers from the Department of Protocol.

 

He had just gotten off the phone with the Department of Protocol when the doorbell rang. Yuri stood quickly and entered the waiting room as Georgi led the visitors in.

 

Three men appeared, all with caramel skin, stern brows, and powerful strides. An older man came first, a marginally younger man behind him, and finally the youngest.

 

He had an undercut with his hair tousled back, broad shoulders, and a piercing gaze. He wasn’t too tall, though the way he carried himself in his suit certainly made him seem so. That must be Otabek, Yuri thought. His heart fluttered – he looked better in person.

 

“Mr. Karimov, welcome to the Russian Embassy,” he said, stretching his hand, “thank you for coming. I am Yuri Plisetsky, Ambassador Feltsman’s assistant. This way, please.” He led them to Yakov’s office, where Yakov, Mila, and Viktor stood as he entered. Yakov stepped from behind his desk and strode to meet the delegation, his arm outstretched.

 

“Mr. Karimov, Yakov Feltsman,” he said as the eldest gentleman, Ruslan Karimov, took his hand and shook it. “Thank you for coming all this way to finalize the agreement.”

 

“Excellency, thank you for the invitation,” Karimov replied, and Yuri raised his eyebrow subtly at Viktor. Invitation? “It is good to see where we will be working. May I introduce my colleagues, head of the Asia Department Zhan Abramov, and political officer Otabek Altin.” Yakov shook hands with each gentleman politely.

“Yes, please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the visitor’s chairs by his desk. “May we offer you tea or coffee?” Tea was the preferred choice for all gentlemen, and Yuri stepped out to fetch the drinks as required. He felt Otabek’s eyes on him as he left.

 

Taking the tray that he had already set up, he returned to the office to find that introductions were at an end, and discussions were turning towards the assignments and the agreement signing.

 

“So you will be opening the Embassy in 2025?” Yakov asked as Yuri set the tray on the coffee table between the visitors, setting the tea in front of Karimov, and then Abramov. Both gentlemen murmured “спасибо” as he did so, and he nodded in acknowledgement. He set the third cup in front of Otabek stole a quick look at his face. “Спасибо, Юри,” he murmured and Yuri nodded, a slight smile forming on his face. He stood as he gathered the tray, and placed the coffee on Yakov’s table, passing behind the Russian flag that stood proudly by Yakov’s table.

 

“Yes, we expect it to have the arrangements in place by September 2025,” Karimov was saying, and Yuri took mental note of the date as Mila wrote it down. “Our concerns are of course placement of the Embassy as well as familiarization with the diplomatic corps, and the recruitment and assignment of the local staff.”

 

“It is an interesting place to start, considering this is a small country,” Yakov commented, sipping his coffee. Karimov noddedd.

 

“Yes, but we have already established embassies where there is a greater Kazakh population. This is a matter of taking care of all other members of our diaspora in further areas,” he replied.

 

“I’m sure the premise is less with the diaspora and more on the trade dynamics,” Yakov noted. Karimov nodded tightly.

 

“You understand the position that we are in,” he replied. “China’s power grows, and we must grow with it.” Yakov nodded solemnly, and Yuri stepped out of the room.

 

He retrieved Mila and Viktor’s coffees, mixed one for himself, and walked back into the room.

 

“We will be planning for one Ambassador and two Kazakh staff - one for political and consular affairs, and another for security,” Abramov was saying as he stepped back in. Yuri looked at Otabek again, whose impassive face did not give anything away. He set the tray on the table again and distributed the coffees to Mila and Viktor before setting one before an empty seat - that was to be his. He quickly returned to the pantry and dropped the tray off before retrieving his notebook and pen from his office and returning to Yakov’s.

 

“No, we have not decided on the Ambassador yet but have one in mind,” Abramov was saying when he returned. “But for the assignment of the local staff, it is a matter of posting formalization. Otabek is a possibility, despite his young age.” Mila’s eyes flashed to Yuri quickly, who schooled his face to neutrality as he noted down the conversation.

 

“You are quite young, Otabek,” Yakov commented, looking at him.

 

“Yes sir, but I’ve spent most of my career abroad,” Otabek replied, and Yuri’s gaze focused on Otabek. His voice was just like over the phone: a smoky baritone that reminded Yuri of caramel and bourbon. “I’ve only been in Astana for a year since my last posting.”

 

“Oh? Where were your other postings?”

 

“The United States and Canada, sir.”

 

“Prestigious postings for a young age.” Yakov sipped his coffee, though Yuri already knew he was gauging Otabek’s usefulness and background. A political appointee?

 

“My University was a good one sir, in Moscow. I attended one of your seminars, in fact.” Yakov raised an eyebrow, and Yuri made note of his university.

 

“Did you? Maybe you learned a thing or two then.”

 

“Yes sir. I applied for the ministry in Astana upon graduation. I was first posted to Russia before receiving the postings in America and Canada.” So, career and political appointee. Yuri decided he could live with that.

 

 

“Determined young man,” Yakov noted, voice impassive. “Well if you speak English, that will do you well here; no one speaks Russian in this side of the world.”

 

“It’s a factor,” Abramov noted dryly. “But he will be carrying consular duties as we don’t expect there to be much political work.” Yakov nodded.

 

“Yes, the Ambassador will likely be doing the political work,” he said, “so pick a good one. Until your Ambassador as arrived, will you be using a diplomatic pouch?” Abramov nodded.

 

“Yes, though we don’t think there will be much correspondence. We may at times ask to use yours.”

 

“These will go to Moscow before Astana.”

 

“Yes, we will request for the consular office to send them to Astana directly. Of course we will pay for the fees.” Yakov made a slight hum of displeasure.

 

“These will be for the passports?” he asked, and Abramov nodded and turned to Otabek.

 

“Passports, visa applications, and some correspondence,” he said, “these will be rare, as there are less than fifty Kazakhstani citizens in the country. And this will only be until the Embassy is operational.” Mila tapped the pencil on her lip as Yakov looked at her for her opinion.

 

“It should not be an issue,” she said. “Will this be only for Kazakhstani citizens in the country, or will this be for the region?”

 

“Only for the country,” Abramov replied, “the Embassy eventually will hold jurisdiction over two countries, but until then, the consular assistance will only be for Kazakhstani citizens locally.”

 

The discussions continued as the day wore on, and Yuri dutifully noted all the details for forwarding on to Moscow. He stole glances at Otabek often, and studied him from his seat. He really was a handsome man, and Yuri found himself watching Otabek as he responded to Yakov’s questions regarding the consular assistance requirements that Mila would be providing.

 

The meeting went on until lunch, and Yakov stepped out with their guests to a restaurant near the Embassy. Yuri stayed behind to handle the remaining visa applications with Mila, who immediately walked into his office as soon as the guests had left.

 

“He’s hot, Yuri,” was the first thing she said. “And that voice? Sex.” Yuri made a face.

 

“Mila, what the fuck,” he retorted. “You’ll actually have to work with him.” Mila grinned.

 

“So will you,” she pointed out. Yuri tried to hide exactly how pleased that little fact made him, but something about Mila’s knowing smile told him he failed.

 

+

 

The delegation went straight through the day, and before long they were saying their farewells. The next day found the delegation going to different realtors and viewing potential office spaces. Yuri was a little disappointed he hadn’t been able to speak to Otabek yet, but given that the National Day was only four days away, he was also busy with the confirmations of Russian nationals and members of the business community they had invited for the occasion.

 

He barely saw or spoke to Otabek in the three days that the delegation was in town; all were busy. Yuri rued the loss of opportunities to talk, but knew that the visit was for work.

 

The National Day celebrations rolled around and Yuri spent the morning helping Mila with last minute mails from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and locking the Embassy. The Embassy was closed, Viktor was at the residence, and Yakov was showing their Kazakh guests around the capital in an effort to be welcoming to their new semi-colleagues.

 

“Georgi! Can you at least ask the diplomatic security to at least be on time!?” Yuri said exasperatedly when he arrived at the Residence at 15:00 only to find the guards were still not there. “I mean for fuck’s sake if the US Embassy’s security gets here before they do I’ll fucking set Protocol on their asses!”

 

Yuri marched straight to the kitchen to find that the caterers were already there and setting up for the evening, but something was missing…

 

“Where is Viktor…?” Yuri asked slowly, looking across the garden. “He was supposed to oversee the decorating?” Georgi shrugged.

 

“Haven’t seen him yet today,” he said, checking his watch, “I think I heard him say something about picking up ‘the love of his life’ from the Japanese Embassy?”

 

“That balding shit!” Yuri yelled, and went off to direct the caterer and event suppliers.

 

“What’s got him so tense?” Georgi asked Mila as he watched Yuri stomp off. “He seems more high-strung than usual.” Mila shrugged.

 

“The Kazakh delegation is attending tonight. I think Yuri wants to impress that boy he’s been secretly eye-fucking,” she said thoughtfully.

 

“Ah, young love,” Georgi crooned.

 

+

 

The National Day celebration was in full swing and Yuri fluttered around trying to make sure all was going according to plan. Yakov had arrived early, making sure that he was there to greet all the guests personally, especially the local Minister of Foreign Affairs. Yuri and Mila spent the first two hours greeting guests and making sure the alcohol was well-stocked while Yakov delivered his speeches of welcome from the patio that led to the lawn.

 

Cocktail tables dotted across the lawn, with the dignitaries dressed in their semi-formal wear and the civilians in considerably less formal clothes. As Yakov stood on the patio and took the microphone, chatter ceased and all turned to face the old man.

 

“Good evening and thank you for your attendance tonight. It is a welcome sight, considering the political climate of recent years which echoes of the past. Now old alliances are tested by suspicions but tempered by historical trust and the effort of building a better world as we see fit. This need not be a fight and I remain confident that old suspicions may be put to rest as we build towards a common future. I thank you for coming tonight, itself a statement of support and trust in each other’s capability and situation.” There was some scattered laughter, but many solemn nods.

 

“To the Minister and the protocol office, I thank you for your support in the previous months and look forward to our governments furthering our commitments to each other.

 

“I would like to welcome tonight our guests from the Italian Embassy in Bangkok, Ambassador Cialdini and his assistant Phichit Chulanont; I hope you enjoy your time tonight and congratulations for your good timing.” The Ambassadors laughed and Phichit flashed a smile and a peace sign as he photographed people on the lawn.

 

“I would also like to welcome tonight our guests from Kazakhstan, Minister Ruslan Karimov, Zhan Abramov, and Otabek Altin. Our Embassy has been glad to host you as our guests, and we wish you well for the opening of your Embassy in the next year.” Yuri’s eyes darted towards Otabek, whose face remained impassive as he sipped at his drink. Whiskey? Around him, applause and some murmurs of surprise.

 

“I shall not bore you long. The food is traditional Russian fare, and for our Muslim guests, we have noted those that have requested halal plates. It is a pleasure to celebrate the independence of the Russian Federation with you all, and I look forward to enjoying this evening in your company.” Yakov stepped away from the microphone, and shook hands with the Minister of Foreign Affairs, then Minister Karimov.

 

Yuri watched with a critical eye as the waiters began to serve the guests refreshments and the food before heading inside to the kitchen to grab a bite of his own.

 

+

 

Yuri spent the rest of the evening wandering amidst tables, greeting Ambassadors and meeting the other assistants he had not yet met. He found himself genuinely enjoying some of their company; Phichit was especially one whose company Yuri enjoyed. Phichit was seated next to a quiet Asian boy that looked suspiciously familiar when he heard—

 

“Yuri!! I see you’ve met my beloved Yuuri!”

 

Yuri turned to find Viktor walking towards the table, drinks in hand.

 

“What.”

 

“Yuri, this is Yuuri, the new political attache for the Japanese Embassy!” Viktor places his drinks on the table before reaching to take Yuuri’s hand and kissing his fingers gently. “More importantly, he is the love of my life.” Yuri gagged as Yuuri turned the color a tomato would envy.

 

“A-ah that might not be appropriate, Viktor,” he stammered, clearly embarrassed. “Maybe not here—“

 

“You’re the one that went pole dancing at Minako’s farewell party,” Yuri pointed out, an eyebrow arched. “You don’t get a say in this. Anyway, you’re both disgusting.” He glared at Yuuri and Viktor, who was ignoring the exchange in favor of mooning over his partner.

 

“Yes, that was him, and I have never seen anyone so beautiful,” Viktor murmured, kissing Yuuri’s hand again. Yuuri turned even redder.

 

“Oh! I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend, Yuuri!” Phichit said from behind them, a wide smile on his face. “And pole dancing! You’ve really loosened up since college!!”

 

“College?” Yuri and Viktor asked simultaneously. Phichit nodded eagerly.

 

“Yes! We went to the same university in Washington DC!” He said, pulling out his phone and opening his Facebook app. “Turns out a lot of us went to DC – It’s also how we know Leo and Guanghong!” Yuri glanced over at Leo, who was deep in conversation with the Chinese embassy’s assistant. From the looks of it, it wasn’t just the conversation he was keen on either. Yuri looked back at Phichit.

 

“Wait, you were all in DC?” He asked, his eyebrow raised again. “Why?”

 

“Georgetown, mostly,” Yuuri answered with a smile that was almost shy. “It’s a good school with a great network, and a lot of the policy students that take their degrees there wind up in foreign policy.”

 

“I know that,” Yuri snapped, “but you aren’t even the same age!”

 

“Guanghong was there on an exchange program for undergraduates, while Phichit and I took our Masters degrees,” Yuuri explained. “Leo was finishing in Georgetown right as Guanghong was starting his assignment at a think tank there, I think, but DC really isn’t that big.”

 

“Georgetown? Yuuri you’re so smart,” Viktor sighed dreamily. “Oh but wait, now we have two Yuris, we should make a way of distinguishing them!” Yuri’s hackles raised. Viktor looked between them for a moment, then patted Yuri’s head.

 

“I baptize you... Yurio.”

 

“I was here first, you ass!” Yuri all but yelled, causing some guests to startle and stare. Yuri pointedly ignored them.

 

“Ah, the Ice Tiger of Russia bares his teeth again,” came a jovial voice behind him, and Yuri groaned. Behind him stood Jean-Jacques Leroy and his wife Isabella. “What’s got you so wound up?”

 

“I’m out, the kitchen needs me,” Yuri said standing to leave.

 

“Aw don’t leave, Yurio!” Viktor called out to him as Yuri began to walk away. “We haven’t told Yuuri the origins of your nickname yet!” He said, right as JJ perked up at “Yurio”.

 

“My name isn’t Yurio!” Yuri yelled over his shoulder and walked towards the living room to make sure the Nishigori triplets hadn’t broken anything yet.

 

He didn’t have to worry about the Nishigori triplets, who only seemed to be taking alarming amounts of selfies and photographs.

 

“Yuri!!” They called out as he walked by. He attempted to ignore them but it was futile. They followed him eagerly, gazing at him as he walked.

 

“Yuri!! It’s been a long time!” Said the first, Axel.

 

“Have you met Yuuri Katsuki?” Asked the second, Loop.

 

“He’s Viktor’s new boyfriend!” Chimed the third, Lutz.

 

Why their mother named them after figure skating jumps, Yuri would never know, but he supposed it was better than Salchow, Ina Bauer, and Biellmann Nishigori. He liked his figure skating like every other Russian who watched the Winter Olympics religiously, but Yuuko Nishigori was something else.

 

“Yes and they’re both gross, go away,” Yuri grumbled, trying to sidestep the triplets. They dodged with him.

 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Asked Axel.

 

“Or a boyfriend?” Asked Loop. Yuri glared at them.

 

“Ooh the Russian fairy is still on the market!” Lutz grinned mischievously, typing away on her phone.

 

“What are you doing?” Yuri asked, frowning.

 

“You’re really popular,” Lutz informed him—

 

“Like a siren, so pretty!”— added Loop,

 

“But so angry!!” finished Axel just as Lutz raised her phone. She was about to take a photo when—

 

“Yuri? Do you have a minute?”

 

Yuri turned to see Otabek standing behind him, a stern expression on his face. Yuri saw an opening and grabbed it, while the triplets looked at Otabek, then each other, suspiciously.

 

“Hi Otabek, what do you need?” He asked, turning to face him, expression half pleading, and ignoring the triplets.

 

“Ooh a new contender for the popular Russian Fairy’s heart?” One of the triplets was murmuring behind Yuri suspiciously, typing rapidly into her phone.

 

“Yes maybe, he’s the new officer from Kazakhstan, didn’t you hear?” replied another, also typing.

 

“A hero from Kazakhstan!!” cried the third as the shutter in her mobile phone clicked. Yuri heard the shutter and whipped around to glare at the triplets.

 

“Why do you brats even have mobile phones!?” He demanded exasperatedly as Otabek looked on in amusement. He turned back to Otabek.

 

“Mr. Karimov was looking for you,” Otabek segued smoothly, “he’s out in the foyer.” Yuri nodded and followed Otabek through the house, while the triplets snapped photos.

 

“The Russian Fairy rescued by the Hero of Kazakhstan!” Loop whispered excitedly as they walked away, Yuri pointedly ignoring them in favor of his new friend.

 

+

 

“What did Mr Karimov want to speak to me about?” Yuri asked as he and Otabek walked through the patio and out into the garden. The party was in full swing, Russian guests grouped together around the vodka, teasing each other and laughing, getting drunker by the hour as diplomatic guests clumped together to exchange stories and bargaining and travel tips around their temporary home.

 

“Oh nothing, you just looked like you needed rescuing,” Otabek answered, shrugging. Yuri laughed.

 

“That obvious?” He asked warily, and Otabek nodded as they walked in companionable silence. After passing a bar and getting a drink each, they wandered around the property until they found a quiet spot away from the party, surrounded by greenery and with a small bench in the middle.

 

“What brings you here to this side of Asia?” Otabek asked as they settled on the bench. Yuri shrugged.

 

“What brings anyone out here? Just another assignment from the Ministry,” he replied, shrugging. “Small Russian population means less headaches, even if we get the idiots.” Otabek laughed, and Yuri felt his heart stutter.

 

“Try no Kazakh population,” he said, “we’ve got maybe ten, and they’re all banker transients.” Yuri laughed.

 

“At least you’ve got the decent kind,” he pointed out, “ours are either working in the casinos or drunks by the beach. But we’ve got some IT guys, so I guess that’s something.” Otabek let a little huff of laughter but didn’t contest the sentiment.

 

“Is your tour of duty long?” He asked after a beat of silence. Yuri calculated it in his head.

 

“Yeah, I’ve only been here five months,” he said, “I’ve got at least another three or four years.”

 

“That’s a while,” Otabek replied, eyebrows raised in surprise. Yuri shrugged and drank.

 

“Yeah, but all our postings are,” he said. “Especially here, since not many people are eager to come out to Asia. Besides, they needed an all-around assistant at the Embassy anyway.” Otabek nodded.

 

“That will be me too, eventually,” he said, “Political officer in title but everything in duty.” Yuri smiled warily.

 

“I know the feeling,” he said, “executive assistant in title, political and cultural officer and consular assistant in practice.”

 

“Do you want to be here for a long time?” Yuri asked. Otabek shrugged.

 

“If I can learn a lot, why not?” he answered after a pause. “It’s hard work setting up an Embassy and being an all-around hand. But if it exposes you to all the lines of work, adjusting to other postings won’t be difficult. Besides, it doesn’t seem too bad here, and there are barely any Kazakhstanis to look after.” Yuri smirked.

 

“Yeah, sounds about right,” he said. “How did it go again? The less Russians there are in a country, the better your posting will be? Or something. At least that part’s a breeze: no bullshit babysitting or deportation notices unless some Russian decides to skim a fucking ATM and get caught.” Otabek’s eyebrow raised in question.

 

“Bulgarian and Russian got caught ATM skimming. I had to get him deported,” Yuri explained with a shrug and a drink. “Paperwork was a bitch with immigration but damn, it’s embarrassing. I yelled at him the whole way to the airport.”

 

“You’re very good at what you do though,” Otabek said. “I remember you from before, you know.” Yuri looked at him, puzzled.

 

“From where?”

 

“MGIMO,” Otabek replied. “We had a unit together. You were brilliant, and during one of the debates on history and post-WWII rehabilitation, you had the most determined face I’d ever seen. Yuri Plisetsky had the eyes of a soldier.”

 

Yuri flushed at the comment.

 

“I don’t even remember that,” he said.

 

“I don’t expect you to. I was just another student out of Kazakhstan. I ended up with an internship in Toronto and then a minor posting in DC after graduation. I didn’t think I’d see you again, so it really was a surprise to learn that the brilliant Yuri Plisetsky from MGIMO is the same Yuri I was talking to on the phone for months.” Yuri felt the flush deepen into a full-blown cherry red blush.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself you know,” he said, trying to divert the topic. “You’re pretty cool, and I like talking to you.” Otabek smiled.

 

“That’s cool to hear. So you okay if we hang out?” he asked, almost shy. Yuri grinned, trying and failing to contain his excitement.

 

“So it’s you coming over? Finalized?” He asked excitedly. “That’s going to be so cool, we can hang out and I can show you all the bars and we can go to the mountains and—,” Yuri cut himself off, embarrassed. “I mean, it would be cool to have you around.” Otabek smiled at him, almost fond, and Yuri felt his heart stutter for the second time that night.

 

He hadn’t had time to notice in the rush of people inside but Otabek looked handsome in a dark blue cable knit sweater, a white polo underneath, and khakis. Yakov insisted on smart casual in the residence, and Yuri was now grateful for reasons other than not dressing formally himself. Otabek’s hair was swept back, undercut clearly visible. Yuri wondered how he was able to pull it off; Yakov had made him cut his hair for “formality’s sake”. But looking at Otabek, effortlessly clean and cool, Yuri felt a tinge of jealousy at how he could pull it off and, not for the first time, a lot of attraction.

 

“I haven’t received the appointment yet but they figured I’d be a good choice coming here,” Otabek was saying as Yuri broke out of his reverie, “I hope you can introduce me and guide me here as I adjust.”

 

“Ah, yeah sure,” he said. “I mean there are lots of cool places around here that I know— do you like bars or clubbing or what?”

 

“Yeah those are cool. I DJ sometimes so if it’s worth it I’ll bring my equipment over.”

 

“You DJ!?” Yuri gaped at him. How much cooler could Otabek get!? “So you have a motorbike AND you DJ!? Any of that EDM shit?” Otabek shrugged.

 

“Depends on the club. Almaty clubs like EDM so I have a mix for them if they want it. My own stuff’s a lot of rock and remixes.”

 

“Otabek Altin, you and I are going to be great friends.” Yuri flashed him a grin that was almost feral. Otabek grinned back, and Yuri’s heart gave way for the third time that night.

 

“So, Yuri Plisetsky. Are you going to be friends with me or not?” He stuck out his hand, and Yuri shook it, smiling at him.

 

“Friends, huh? You’re stuck with me now.” Otabek smiled at Yuri, eyes soft and wistful.

 

“Gladly, Yuri.”

 

The evening ended in a haze of alcohol and conversations, Yuri pointedly ignoring Mila’s fond yet irrepressibly smug smile as he and Otabek talked and drank together, ignoring the party around them. As the night ended, Yuri and Otabek took photos and exchanged their personal numbers with promises to keep in touch. He passed out when he got home, exhausted.

 

Yuri took Otabek to a club the next night, refusing to let him leave without having at least one good night together. That night ended with Yuri and Otabek getting reasonably smashed together, and a camera roll of photos of the two of them.

 

Otabek had an early flight the day after back to Astana, and Yuri felt a little pang of wistfulness that he and Otabek couldn’t hang out again sooner. But he shook it off with the faint hope that Otabek would be assigned to the country soon.

 

+

 

Three months came and went, and Yuri and Otabek kept up their constant communications through Instagram, WhatsApp messages, and the occasional phone call. At work they were the epitome of professional, but on their personal phones was a collection of cat memes and enough playlists to keep Yuri listening to music for the next month.

 

Yuri saved all of the mixes and listened to them during Embassy downtimes and on his commute home— a soundtrack to a new friendship. Otabek sent Yuri photos of his gigs and samples of his music; Yuri sent him snarky commentary on Viktor’s increasingly rapid romance with Yuuri Katsuki and photos of his cat. Otabek saved all of the photos and commentary, replying with his own muted comments and blackmail material of JJ Leroy, who he knew from a brief trade negotiation with the Canadian government a few years prior.

 

(“where the fuck have you not been!?” Yuri demanded at one point, to which Otabek readily replied, “Crimea.” Yuri threatened to end their friendship and hung up.)

 

They talked everyday, and Yuri learned to ignore Mila’s pointed questions about his love life, which Yuri existed remained nonexistent even as his heart threatened to give way every time Otabek sent a new remix or playlists with variations of Yuri’s name or cat jokes. Yuri knew those were made for him, and he tried not to think too hard about how Otabek was the first person that came to mind when he found something new on Soundcloud or on a beautiful sunny day, or how Almaty suddenly appeared in his travel bucket list. All he knew was he had a new friend he could talk about everything with, and that was enough.

 

+

 

“Yuri, my office please,” Yakov’s voice floated through the phone. It was a Wednesday. Yuri put the phone back on the receiver and put his phone away, making a mental note to reply to Otabek’s last text with the most obnoxious Halloween bear he could find.

 

“Yeah?” He asked as he stepped into the room. Yakov handed him some papers, all bearing the stamp of the Ministry. Yuri raised an eyebrow; he hadn’t seen these before.

 

“From the Ministry. Advance notice about the Kazakhstan MOA,” Yakov explained, and Yuri’s second eyebrow joined the first as he read the documents quickly.

 

“So it’s a definite go?” He asked, quashing the hope in his voice. Yakov nodded.

 

“I thought you would have heard about it from your friend,” he remarked, smirking. Yuri ignored the remark.

 

“I’ll file this today,” he said, “and I’ll coordinate with Astana as needed.”

 

“I’m sure you will,” Yakov said, and Yuri left the office with a roll of his eyes.

 

+

 

It was a Wednesday, and Yuri was tired of dealing with never-ending phone calls to and from the Russian Foreign Ministry, to and from Astana, to and from the Protocol Department of the local Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and from applicants who had no idea how to navigate websites.

 

“Do you think this is a travel agency!?” Yuri had finally snapped at one potential applicant who kept asking questions that were in the FAQ section of the website. “We don’t care how you get to Russia as long as you get back here before your visa expires. Any other questions!?” When the applicant squeaked “no”, Yuri slammed the phone down and buried his head in his hands in frustration.

 

The clock turned to 17:00 on his desktop and immediately he began packing his bag.

 

“MILA!” he barked, “I’m leaving, you lock up!”

 

He left the Embassy and headed home, pouring himself a copious amount of vodka into a glass before settling into the couch in his apartment, laptop open and phone in hand. As he sat, his phone pinged with a new message, and he opened it to find it was from Otabek. Curious, Yuri opened it. As soon as he did, his heart stuttered.

 

It was a photo of Otabek holding up a signed paper with the Kazakhstan Ministry of Foreign Affair’s official stamp, mischievous grin on his handsome face. Across it, Otabek had written:

 

See you next level. 6 January 2024.

 

Yuri’s face broke into a wide grin as he hastily typed back, “we’re hitting the club, asshole. See you when you get here.”

 

Otabek replied just as quickly.

 

“Definitely.”

 

After a minute, and Yuri’s phone rang through WhatsApp.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, “what’s up?”

 

“Can I take you out for dinner after I move?”

 

“Wait, what?” Yuri asked, surprised, and he heard Otabek let out a nervous laugh on the other end.

 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you since forever.”

 

“Since when?” Yuri asked, surprise only growing.

 

“For a while, but really -- When I added you on IG,” Otabek answered. “You’re something else, Yuri. I had to make sure it was the same Yuri Plisetsky from MGIMO, but even if it wasn't- even then.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Yuri retorted, his face coloring. “You’re hot as hell.” He heard Otabek huff out a laugh on the other end.

 

“So, are you gonna go out with me or not?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, alright,” Yuri laughed, breathless. “Get here faster, jerk. I’m not patient.”

 

“It’s okay, Yuri. When I get there, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

 

Yuri fell asleep with his cat curled around him, and a pleased, giddy smile on his face. Maybe Wednesdays weren’t so bad after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ресей хаттамасы = Russia Protocol (Kazakh)  
> Посольство России = Russian Embassy (Russian)  
> Спасибо = thanks (Russian)  
> Министерство иностранных дел Казахстан = Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Kazakhstan (Russian)
> 
> MFA = Ministry of Foreign Affairs  
> Note verbale = most informal of diplomatic communiques and preferred correspondence format (layout varies per country)  
> MGIMO = Moscow State Institute of International Relations, arguably the best school in the Russian sphere of influence for foreign policy and international relations
> 
> Yuri and Otabek speak in Russian as Russian is still in use as a second language for inter-ethnic communication and I'm not about to pretend I know whether Russian will be removed as a second language for the MFA by 2024. I've also taken liberties with protocols as I don't know the internal protocol and departments of the MFA-Kazakhstan but I don't think they would be too different from my home country.
> 
> The use of Russian or Kazakh when on the phone is intentional; as the sole local staff I was instructed to learn their language and greet all callers in their language to discourage local callers to the embassy. The use of Kazakh is intentional as protocol departments in local MFAs do not often get foreign callers, and if you dialed their extension you likely know who you're calling anyway. I don't imagine the Russian embassies in large countries are that unfriendly, but they were in mine! 
> 
> I have intentionally kept the location vague, and the formatting for the note verbale is not entirely accurate as I've never seen a Kazakh note verbale. Instead, I followed a format that I used whilst still employed at the embassy. Some liberties have been taken with regards to the usage of diplomatic pouches and co-sharing of Embassy spaces, but they are mostly true and vary depending on the relationships between the two countries. 
> 
> References to Crimea are there because you would be surprised at how long Embassies keep their grudges, and mostly as an example of geopolitics affecting what should be minor work details (we were forbidden direct contact with the Russian embassy by our MFA in the first month after Crimea, and the balancing of accepting National Day invites had a lot of politics). Besides, I don't even want to think of what other scenarios can come between 2018 and 2024 given the people at the helm lol.
> 
> If you liked it, a kudos or a comment would mean the world to me. Happy New Year!


End file.
